The Lost Seeker
by Bri-Gils
Summary: "Where'd you learn to tango?" the image of a middle aged woman wearing emerald roves and dancing with a tall ginger flashed into his mind. "I...I don't know." The wizarding world can't find Harry Potter when he is needed most, and Mark Cohen can't remember anything from his childhood. HP/Rent Crossover. Rated T
1. Prologue

"Where'd you learn to tango?" the image of a middle aged woman wearing emerald roves and dancing with a tall ginger flashed into his mind. "I...I don't know." The wizarding world can't find Harry Potter when he is needed most, and Mark Cohen can't remember anything from his childhood. HP/Rent Crossover

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I've had this idea in my mind for forever! Please let me know what you think!

* * *

All rights go to JK Rowling and Jonathan Larson. I own nothing!

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Prologue

It had not happened…. It could not have happened….Snape killed Dumbledore. Professor Snape killed Dumbledore.

Harry ignored the Order of the Phoenix members as he raced past them in the halls of Hogwarts; while they were all focused on their duels, Harry only paid notice to one thing- Dumbledore's murderer.

"Take that!" shouted Professor McGonagall,and Harry glimpsed the female Death Eater, Alecto, sprinting away, her brother right behind her. He launched himself after them but his foot caught on something, and the next moment he was lying on top of Neville's legs.

"Harry… Snape' n' Malfoy… ran past"

"I know, I'm on it!" said Harry, as he scrambled up from the floor and began sprinting again, ignoring the curses flying around him, the yells for his help, and the bodies lying on the ground- the fate of whom he did not know yet. He pelted toward a shortcut, hoping to close in on Snape and Malfoy as the oak front doors came into view. Harry flew across the entrance hall and out into the dark grounds, gaining on the three figures racing across the lawn.

"Stupefy!"

"Run, Draco!"

Twenty yards apart, the two half-bloods looked at each other as the younger one raised his wand.

Before he could send a jinx at his professor, Bellatrix came into the teen's view and excruciating pain hit Harry. Someone was screaming, he was going to be tortured to death or madness-

"No!" roared Snape's voice and the pain stopped suddenly. "Have you forgotten our orders? Potter belongs to the Dark Lord- we are to leave him!" But Snape was too late. As those words left the greasy haired man's mouth, a green light flew towards the Boy-Who-Lived.

Suddenly, Harry saw black.

* * *

Voldemort was happy. That's as much as Harry could gather the moment he woke up. He wasn't sure where he was; he knew that it was cold and damp, he knew that the floor was a very uncomfortable stone, and he had a feeling that Voldemort thought him to be dead. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Harry realized that he also knew the two voices that were arguing nearby.

"The Dark Lord o-ordered me to guard the body, S-snape!" Peter Pettigrew's nasally voice floated into the chamber Harry was lying in.

"I would have thought that someone even as foolish as you would realize that it was busy work." Snape quibbled. "Why must you guard a dead body, Pettigrew? The door isn't even locked!"

Harry stood, suppressing a groan at his stiffness. How long had he been out? How was he going to get out of here? How was he even alive?

"Well, why must you see a dead body? It hasn't changed since that last you've seen it!"

It might have been the adrenaline coursing through his veins, or the nerves bubbling in his stomach, but Harry suddenly felt as though it were now or never to escape. He was wandless, confused, and achy with only one option of fleeing- towards the arguing Death Eaters.

"What are you trying to do, Severus?" Wormtail roared. Neither man acknowledged Harry's oncoming footsteps, nor did Harry notice Snape's raised was, none of them noticed the other until the Potter collided with his father's old friend, and the "Obliviate" that Snape intended for the rat, instead hit the teenager. Harry saw a look of pure shock on his potion professor's face, and once again, everything went black.

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Please review! Thank you!

-Bri


	2. Chapter 1

"Where'd you learn to tango?" the image of a middle aged woman wearing emerald roves and dancing with a tall ginger flashed into his mind. "I...I don't know." The wizarding world can't find Harry Potter when he is needed most, and Mark Cohen can't remember anything from his childhood. HP/Rent Crossover

* * *

I've had this idea in my mind for forever! Please let me know what you think!

* * *

All rights go to JK Rowling and Jonathan Larson. I own nothing!

* * *

Chapter 1

He was scared. No, he was fucking terrified. The narrow alleyway where he was laying was not familiar at all, and he had no clue as to why he was on top of a bunch of garbage bags. He felt stiff, as though he'd been lying on top of the bags for hours. When was the last time he had been outside? Was it in the daytime, or was it a mere minutes ago, and the moon and stars above him merely slipped his mind? To top it off, he was having the worst migraine.

He attempted at standing up, and a whimper escaped his lips as he fell off the bags. "Ow."

He somehow managed, with ways unbeknownst to him, to stand and began hobbling towards the alley's opening.

He was certain that he had never been here before, although that wasn't saying much considering his headache made it near impossible for him to think. People were sitting among the trash next to the buildings, their sleeping heads leaning on the graffiti-covered walls, and their legs were covered in blankets despite the June heat. Regardless of the heavy sleepers, he felt as though everyone was watching, and judging…. he was on edge, yet he didn't know why….

A hand suddenly touched his shoulder, and he screamed, turned around, and punched someone in the face.

"Oh shit!" The guy backed away, grasping his nose in pain. "I was just wondering if you were okay! You look like you're going to collapse!"

"Bloody hell, I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, something telling him to trust this guy. "Here, let me-"

"-No!" The guy backed away, adding to his confusion. "I- Don't touch my blood. I have H.I.V."

"You have what?" He asked, as the pounding in his head increased.

The guy stared at him. "Um, HIV? It's, uh, a sickness in my blood…. Are you alright? Where are your parents?"

"I…" Where were they? Where was he? "I'm not sure…"

"Oh." The guy suddenly concerned. "Well, I'm Collins. Tom Collins. I would shake your hand but, well… " Collins motioned to the blood on his hands. "I wouldn't have thought that a little guy like you could punch so hard. What's your name?"

He drew a blank, and his heart began racing. What was his name? Why didn't I know my name? He meant to respond; instead, he began hyperventilating. He grabbed the wall as his legs began to feel like jell-o.

"Woah, hey, calm down, man. " Collins said as he slid to the ground. The black man bent down to be face-to-face with him.

"I can't remember." He whispered.

"Your name?"

"ANYTHING!" He cried, his cheeks suddenly feeling wet. "I can't…. I don't…."

"Hey, listen." Collins said, and something about his deep voice brought tranquility to the crying boy. "It's late. You probably just need a good night's sleep. C'mon, you can stay at my place tonight."

"I-"

"No objections. It sounds like you're a long way from home, if your accent is anything to go by, and I bet you have no where else to go" The older man interrupted.

He wordlessly stood up again, still feeling shaky, yet steadier. After following Collins for a block, they stopped outside a graffiti-covered run-down building. Collins began searching his pants for his key and he took this time to observe his surroundings. Every building on the block resembled the one before him, and there was a giant lot nearby that was filled with sleeping people. Above him, a blonde guy was smoking on the fire escape of the top floor.

"Aw, shit." Collins muttered. The black man looked up to the blonde. "Yo, Roger! Throw down a key!"

The blonde- Roger- glanced down at them as he pulled a key out of his pocket. "What the fuck happened to your nose?" He yelled as he dropped the piece of metal.

"British boy over here has a pretty good right hook." Collins responded. The boy in question could feel Roger's eyes piercing the top of his head, as though he could get answers to his questions by staring. Collins unlocked the door and the two made their way up multiple flights of stairs until they reached a metal door. Sliding it open, Collins sighed, "Loft sweet loft."

"Why did you bring a fourteen year old home?" Roger questioned the second the two stepped into the loft. The blonde was now sitting on a brown plaid couch that was accented with many pieces of duct tape with a tall, balding black man.

"I'm not fourteen." He scoffed, annoyed by Roger's presumption.

"Fine." Roger rolled his eyes, "How old are you?"

"I… not fourteen."

The tall guy snorted, "Yeah, we've established that."

"Oh, give him a break." Collins interjected, now standing by the sink, cleaning his bloody nose. "I found him practically crawling out of the alley by the Catsratch Club."

"I can't be that much younger than you lot… I think…"

The tall guy snorted again. "I'm Benny. This idiot is Roger."

"I, er, am not quite sure what my name is."

Roger gave him a quizzical look, "What?"

"I'm pretty sure he has memory loss of some sort." Collins explained, and the british boy stared at the floor as Benny and Roger gazed at him. "You can sleep in my bed tonight."

"Oh no, I don't want to put you out of a bed." He declined, still feeling somewhat like a monkey in a zoo.

"It's fine. I'll sleep on the extra mattress in Maureen's room. Where is the drama queen anyway?"

"Sleeping." Benny answered.

Roger burst out laughing, "Ooh, yes! Maureen will love having new meat around!" The blonde sent him a wicked grin, and his stomach flip-flopped at its sight.

* * *

For a mid-June day, there was an odd chill in the air. The sky was overcast, grey and dreary like the mood of everyone there. It was hard to imagine that just two weeks ago, they had been in that same spot laughing and basking in the sunlight, almost as though they were normal teenagers without a care in the world.

But they weren't. And they had many cares. And as Ron Weasley sat there by the Great Lake, clutching the Holly and Phoenix feather wand that was found in the grass by Hagrid's hut days prior, he wished for all those cares to be gone. He wished for Snape to be dead, for horcuxes to not exist, for the Daily Prophet to stop printing the story that Dumbledore and the Boy-Who-Lived were dead, and for Rita Skeeter to stop pestering him about how he feels about all of this. But most of all, he wished for his best friend back.

"Ron?"

He didn't turn around. He didn't want her to see him cry. Who was going to help him whenever he was a git to Hermione now?

"We have to do it." He said, his voice sounding rough after days of not being used.

"Do what?" Hermione asked, sitting beside him in the grass.

"Destroy the Horcruxes. Kill You-kn… Kill V-voldemort."

"Of course. It's up to us now, isn't it?"

The ginger didn't answer. He could see George comforting Ginny in the corner of his eye. She'd been sobbing nonstop for three days.

"Who knows if we're ever going to see this place again…" He stated, slipping his rough hand into hers.

"I bet that this is Harry's Heaven." Hermione sniffled, squeezing his hand. "Hogwarts, I mean. He always loved it here. This was his home."

"We're not doing this for the greater good anymore, 'Mione. We're going to do this for him. Avenge him and his parents and Sirius and…."

Hermione squeezed his hand again.

"We'll defeat him. For Harry."

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Please review! Thank you!

-Bri


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